


Second Chances

by amethyst_flame



Series: Broken Chances [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF SHIELD Agents, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-10-29 11:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethyst_flame/pseuds/amethyst_flame
Summary: It's been a little over a year since Bucky knocked on Amelia's door, looking for a warm, safe place to spend a night while on the run from HYDRA. Life is starting to settle into something that almost resembles normal, not counting the Avenger's ongoing attempts to destroy HYDRA, the development of a new SHIELD, and Bucky's struggles to get over his past. With Steve's continuing downward spiral and a new generation of heroes coming into play, it's getting harder and harder to keep it all together.





	1. Picking Through The Rubble

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! And welcome back! 
> 
> It's International Fanworks Day, and yesterday was Valentine's Day so this seemed like a good day to post the first chapter to part two of Broken Chances. This is going to be a wild ride, and I'm bringing in a lot of other MARVEL characters as we go along. It was supposed to be a shorter story, but.. *shrugs*
> 
> If you haven't read Broken Chances, go start there. 
> 
> If you're returning, I've missed you, and I'm so glad that you've decided to continue on with me through the second part of the series. Thank you!

“Amelia! Doll, where are you?” 

Bucky rounds the corner, peeking his head around to the living room. They’re back at the Tower for a few days, celebrating Steve’s birthday (yesterday) and catching up on some time with the rest of the team. 

Amelia is standing in the middle of half-dozen boxes, sorting through what looks like a bunch of random odds and ends. 

“New toys?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Tony pulled this out of storage. It’s some of the junk left over from the Battle of New York. I guess other warehouses keep getting broken into, so I’m supposed to see if there’s anything useful in here that they might be after.” 

“And, you’re doing that in our living room?” 

She shrugs. “There’s nothing harmful in here. Tony had it tested.” She holds up a small scanner. “I’m just looking for anything with interesting readings. The good stuff will be heading home with us for FitzSimmons to work through. The rest is getting tossed.” 

“Uhm. Right.” None of that sounded reassuring. And Tony’s idea of harmless was a little different from his, especially where Amelia was concerned. It was only a little less than a year ago that a HYDRA bullet nearly took her away from him, back when he was newly trying to find himself after escaping their control. It had nearly destroyed him, watching as she bled out in his arms, but she survived, and so did he, and at the end of it, he had a tentative home at Avengers Tower. 

And now he and Amelia lived in Arkansas, on a little farm near the watchful protection of The Sanctuary, SHIELD’s new center of operations, run by Phil Coulson. It was a simpler life, one that he’d been waiting for his whole life, and he’d be damned if Stark did anything to take it away from him now.

Amelia looks over, laughing lightly at the look on his face. “It’s fine, I promise. Besides, this stuff is a whole lot less intimidating when it’s like this. You should have seen it when it was all put together and flying around. Tossing some of this into a garbage can is cathartic. I should get the whole team involved.” 

And that, he understands. Curious, he walks the rest of the way in to shift through one of the boxes. He reaches in with his metal arm, pulling out a glowing purple gem. “So, this goes to Coulson?” Amy reaches for it, and he lifts it out of her reach. “Maybe not something you should be playing with, doll. Do we have a containment case?” 

She jumps up, snatching it from his hands. “It’s not going to hurt me. See?” She holds it up. “It’s kind of humming, though. I can feel the vibrations.” She places it in a second container. “The wonder twins will have a field day with that thing,” she says, referring to Fitz and Simmons, Coulson’s scientific geniuses. Between the two of them, they had been creating technology that shaped and revolutionized SHIELD, even before its fall. Now, they were working with SHIELD backing, and with regular visits from Tony, who seemed as interested in their work as they were in his. 

“Are you going to be in here all afternoon?” 

“It shouldn’t take too much longer. Why?” 

“I thought maybe we could take Steve out for dinner. Get him out of the tower for a couple of hours.”

 

“It’s team movie night.” 

“So, we’ll have to leave soon.” 

She smiles. “The deli?” 

The deli was a hole-in-the-wall eatery in Brooklyn, not far from where the boys grew up, with food that tasted like it used to. The place hadn’t been updated in at least fifty years. Going there always felt a little like going home. 

“Yeah. I think he needs some normalcy.” 

“Help me out, and we can be done faster?” 

He nods, and starts digging through the nearest box, sorting out the bits and pieces. He tested out one of the purple rocks in his other hand, feeling the vibrations Amelia described, and the sensation sent a chill up his spine. 

He starts moving faster, eager to get this done as quickly as possible. With the two of them working together, the task is over within a half hour. He showers, bringing her in with him (he plays it off lightly, but mostly wants to get any residual crap from the alien tech off of their), and they get ready. 

Steve is sitting at the table, stacks of files in front of him, when they walk in. He looks up, smiling slightly in greeting. “Hey. I was just coming to find you. I wanted to you to look over these files, see if any of this made sense to you.” 

“We’re taking you out for dinner.” 

Steve frowns. “It’s team movie night. And I have---” 

Bucky shakes his head, and walks over, glancing down at the paperwork. “HYDRA’s files from the 50s? Looking for something particular, pal?” 

Steve glances up. “Tony came across something that said there may have been more than one Winter Soldier.” 

Bucky exhales sharply, dropping down into a chair. “Yeah, there were. Coulda’ just asked me. But you’re looking in the wrong decade. They were a more recent addition.” 

“We caught word that someone might be trying to restart the program.”

Bucky leans forward over the paperwork, his heart rate picking up. “And you’re trying to figure out how they did it? That’s what all this is?” 

“I didn’t want to ask you, not if I could help it.” 

“I see.” Bucky sighs, and leans back. He’d wanted to spare Steve the details. Never wanted his friend to carry the burden of what had turned him into the Soldier. Amelia knew some. His therapist knew a little more. He’d have to read more on what was going on, and then decide what information would have to be shared. “Go get your shoes on. We’re going out for dinner, and then we’re enjoying team movie night. Whatever is happening, it’s not happening tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what you want to know.” 

“Bucky--” 

“It’s fine, Steve. But right now, we have dinner to get to, alright?” 

Steve nodded, pushing back from the table. “Give me five minutes, and then we can go.” 

As he made his way down the hallway, Amelia moved to stand behind Bucky, setting a steady hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay with this?” 

He reached a hand up, setting it over hers and squeezing lightly. “The world doesn’t need any more Winter Soldiers. If I can stop it, I have to try.” 

She leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Bucky let his head drop back, resting against her middle, and taking the hand that was still beneath his to press it against his cheek. “I’m ready to go home, doll.” 

“I know. But I’ll be here the whole time, alright? And maybe we can get the thing with HYDRA behind us for good.”

“I’m starting to wonder if we’re ever going to see the end of them.” 

“We will. They can’t hide forever.” 

He’s not as sure as she is, but she’s running her fingers through his hair, and for right now, that’s enough. 

***

They take the bikes. 

Steve leads the way, cutting through the late afternoon traffic like it’s nothing. Bucky follows close behind, Amelia’s arms tight around his waist. It’s grounding, helping to keep the memories at bay, even though he knows he’ll have to relive them soon enough. 

But not tonight, he tells himself. Not tonight. Tonight, he gets to be a regular guy going out with his girl and his best friend. They’d laugh, tell some stories, and then go home to watch a movie with the rest of the team. 

And the whole time, he’d pretend he didn’t have the file waiting for him when he woke up tomorrow. 

It takes half an hour to reach the deli. The bikes are parked out front, and they place their orders at the counter before taking a booth near the back. Steve slides into one side, with Bucky and Amelia across from him. 

Bucky’s watching Steve, taking note of the dark circles and the hint of fine lines around his eyes. The man is exhausted, and the worry creases between his eyebrows haven’t smoothed out in days. Of course, knowing something is wrong and knowing how to get Steve to talk about it are two different things. 

Amelia sees it, too, though. He can tell by the way she’s being a bit softer towards the other man, more gentle touches as they talk, trying to tease a smile out of him. Bucky’s seen the look Steve gets around them whenever he thinks no one is looking, like a half-starved kid looking through the window of a bakery in winter. Steve’s lonely, and thinking that he’s never going to get a chance to find what they have. 

Knowing Steve, he’s probably wondering if he even deserves it. And trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need it, that he’s better alone. 

Bucky and Amelia had discussed it, talking about trying to find someone to play matchmaker with, but trying to find the perfect girl for Steve was proving to be harder than they thought it’d be. Didn’t help that Steve’s perfect woman was currently 90-something and had more memory problems than Bucky did.

Either way, something has to be done. 

***

When their order is called, Amelia sweeps out of the booth to go get their sandwiches. Bucky seizes the opportunity to get in a few private words. 

“It takes a lot for a super soldier to look exhausted, Steve. What’s going on?”

Steve makes a face at the title. “A few late nights. I’m fine. Maybe I’m just getting old,” he jokes. “We both are. Is that gray hair?” he asks, gesturing towards the hint of grey in Bucky’s stubble.

“Amelia says it makes me look distinguished, and you’re avoiding the question. Come on, pal. Talk to me.”

Steve drops his gaze the the table, and shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing anymore. It never seems to end. SHIELD is gone, so we have more autonomy, but I spend more time at public events, soothing the public and attending ceremonies, than I do actually making a difference. And the things that I want to fight against, I can’t. Steve Rogers can think whatever he wants, but Captain America is supposed to keep his political opinions to himself, unless I want to get the government on our tails.”

“You need a break, pal. The team, and the public, can make it without you for a few days; I promise. Come out to Arkansas with us. We’d still be able to make it back if they needed us. It’ll take me two minutes to set up the guest room.” 

“It’s not a good time. The team---” 

“Give me five days. Come on, Steve. We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun.”

Steve rolls his eyes, giving in. “Five days. But then I have to get back.”

“Deal.”

Amelia sets the food down in front of them. “What’d I miss?”

“Steve’s coming out for a visit.” 

She slides in next to Bucky, her hand tightening over his. “Finally. Rhett’s mom has been asking after you for months now.” 

Sally Butler had invited the Avengers to her family’s Christmas dinner after Amelia’s home was damaged by Hydra six months earlier. The woman had taken an instant liking to Steve, much to her husband’s joking consternation.

Steve shook his head, and took a sip of his milkshake. “She’s a sweet woman, but not quite my type.” 

“You have a type, then?” Amelia asks.

“Brunette, dangerous, mouthy…” Bucky starts listing off Peggy’s best characteristics, and Steve kicks him under the table. 

“I don’t really know,” Steve responds, as he opens his bag of chips. “I guess I haven't put much thought into it lately. I don’t think I have time for all of that, anyhow.” He’s staring down into the bag like it might hold the answers to the universe. “I’m guess I’m not sure that I’m meant for any of that anymore.” 

Bucky glances at Amelia, who meets his gaze for a second before turning back to Steve. “Don’t give up on it yet, Steve.” She sets her hand over his, and Steve looks up at her, a wobbly, unsure smile stretched across his lips. 

“We’ll see.”


	2. Team Bonding and Other Catastrophes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos and kind words on Chapter 1! I appreciate each and every one of you. <3 <3

Steve grabs the last two bowls of popcorn and starts back to the new theater room. State-of-the-art, wide leather recliners, the works. Tony and Pepper are curled up in a single recliner. Rhodey sits beside them, with Barton in the next spot. The archer is holding Nat’s hand in the space between them. Bruce takes up the last seat of the row. 

Thor, Jane, and Darcy are in the spaces immediately behind them. Sam sits beside Darcy, and Amelia and Bucky are on the end, leaving a space between Bucky and Sam for Steve. 

His gaze rests on the side of his best friend’s face. Bucky pushed back the armrest between his and Amelia’s seats, turning their space into an oversized loveseat. Her head rests against his shoulder, her hand on his thigh and his arm across her back. They’re whispering quietly back and forth, and Bucky smiles widely at something Amelia says, his eyes lighting up. Steve sees so much of his Bucky in him sometimes, even though Bucky’s hair is longer now and his eyes are almost always a bit shadowed. He’ll never be the carefree boy Steve knew so long ago, but he’s come so far in the last year and a half, and as much as Steve hates to admit it, he’s doing better in Arkansas than he was doing here at the Tower. The fresh air and sunshine, and the less stressful work, is helping. 

Bucky turns a bit, catching his gaze, and gesturing him over with his free arm. As soon as he sits down, Bucky leans over towards him. 

“Stop.” 

Steve fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I wasn’t doing anything.” 

“Yes, you were, pal. I could hear your mind fretting over something or another from here. Are you going to keep it up, or can you relax and enjoy a movie before Amelia and I head home in a couple days?” 

Steve hands him one of the buckets of popcorn, and passes the other one down the other way for the rest of the row. “Relax, jerk. It wasn’t anything serious. And you know that I’m coming out in a few weeks anyhow.” Steve talked Bucky into pushing his visit back a bit, on account of a few pre-scheduled events. Bucky agreed, but only on the condition that if he pushed it back again, Bucky was dragging him out to Arkansas.

The movie starts. Some superhero flick about a crass man in a red suit. Another New York City hero--kind of. It seems the city is teeming with them anymore. And Deadpool is about the worst. 

Amy, however, seems to have no problems with the fact that the guy was obviously insane and dangerous, to himself and everyone around him. 

Amelia’s eyes light up, and she turns to Tony. “I don’t suppose this guy--”

“He’s real. Got some bigwig in Hollywood to put together this movie with him,” Natasha provides.

“Tony…” Amelia whines.

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“But you need a sword guy.” 

“Wade’s a free agent. He doesn’t work well with others. Besides, he’s not a hero. Trust me.” _Tony’s met the guy?_ Steve files that tidbit away for a later discussion.

“Yeah, but we could _ask_ him,” Amelia points out. 

“I bet he’d be great during the next prank war,” Clint adds. “Come on, Cap. We could bring him in at least part time.” 

“We are not asking Deadpool to join the Avengers.” Steve needs to put a stop to this. Because knowing Clint and Amy, it won’t take much for them to go off and recruit the guy as soon as the movie ends. 

“But, we let you keep Bucky,” Clint says, pointing to the man in question. 

“Bucky was house trained.” 

“Gee, thanks, pal.”

Steve casts an apologetic glance towards his friend, and sees the way the man is trying to hold back laughter. 

“Don’t contact this guy. I mean it. We have enough to deal with right now.” 

“Fine,” Clint sighs, reluctantly agreeing. “But if we ever need a sword guy, don’t say we didn’t ask.” 

Steve rolls his eyes and goes back to watching the movie. 

***

Bucky has a hard time falling to sleep that night. Maybe it’s the folder waiting for him in the morning, or maybe it’s worry for Steve. 

Maybe it’s his slow recovery from all of the shit HYDRA did to him across the span of better than seventy years. Whatever it is, it’s going on two in the morning when Amelia slides her arm across his chest and then lifts her head. 

“Bucky?” 

“Go back to sleep, doll. I’m okay.” 

She hums, and then stretches up to press a kiss to his jaw, her lips scraping across the dusting of stubble. “If you want to talk, let me know,” she mumbles sleepily. 

He tilts his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know.” 

She curls further into him, as if trying to fix what he wasn’t saying with just the press of her body against his. Touch has always been their way of communicating when words either won’t come or aren’t sufficient. Early in his recovery, she’d find reasons to initiate contact, reaching for his hand or gently touching his arm or leg. After years of pain and cold, the gentle acts of kindness were a balm to his weary body and soul.

_That hasn’t changed,_ he thinks, as his eyes began to close. The weight of her body against his is enough to finally silence his mind, and within minutes, he’s drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

 

***

Since moving out to Arkansas, one of the things Bucky was insistent about was Amelia improving her ability to defend herself. The trainers Tony had hired years ago did a good job, and against a typical city thug, she’d be fine. 

But after the incident with HYDRA, being able to defend herself from city thugs wasn’t good enough anymore. So twice a week, they’d hit the sparring mats set up in the basement, and spend an hour or two practicing techniques. But the one thing Bucky’s training was lacking in (as much as he hated to admit it) was accounting for her shorter stature. 

That’s where Steve came in. 

Not that Steve had ever been any good at defending himself when he was a foot shorter, but he was closer to understanding it than Bucky would ever be. So, anytime Bucky and Amelia came to New York, Steve tried to get in a few sessions with her. 

Which is what she was doing now, trying to get out of Steve’s tight hold as he drags her across the mat. The bastard had both of her arms secured over her head, and he was moving fast enough that she couldn’t quite get her feet under her. 

“Come on, doll. Stop squirming and think. You’ve got this,” Bucky encouraged from the next mat over, where he was sparring with Natasha. 

The momentary distraction was all Nat needed to stick her knee in his side. He huffs a sharp breathe and refocuses. 

Amelia takes a moment, and thinks back through her training. Her hands wrap around Steve’s wrists and she pulls, catching him off guard and twisting just enough to get her feet under her again. From there, it’s easy to get loose. She keeps her eyes on him, and steps back several paces.

Amy’s foot rotates as it finds the edge of the mat, and a sharp pain shoots up from her ankle through her hip. She’s able to stop herself from falling, but it’s a close thing. It’s all she can do to keep from crying out.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, coming towards her. 

She schools her face, careful to hide the pain, and shrugs. “I’m good. Probably should call it good for the day, though. It’s later than I thought it was, and I still have to get dinner started.”

Bucky glances over, and she knows he’s seeing straight through her. “We’ll order in.” 

Natasha steps off the mat. “I’m done for the day, too. I’ll see you all upstairs.” 

“Still up for a few rounds?” Steve asks Bucky, who gives Amelia a quick glance. 

“I’ll watch you guys from here. I’m good.” There were worse things in the world than watching Bucky, shirt off and in a loose pair of pants, square off against Steve. Bucky, his hair pulled back behind his head with a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. He flashes her a concerned glance, and she gives a tiny shake of her head. She’s fine. 

Except, when she gets up the next day, she is definitely not fine. Not even close. The moment her leg touches the floor, it buckles. Bucky’s sharp reflexes are the only thing that keeps her from falling over. 

“How bad is it?” 

“Not….good.” 

He sets her on the bed, and comes around, rough fingers gently caressing over the scars covering her legs. “Where’s the worst of it?” 

“I don’t know. It just feels off. Weak. I’ll just take it easy for a couple hours; I’m sure it’ll be fine by this afternoon.” 

“Amelia, we should get you up to medical. They could do a scan, see if you did anything to it yesterday.” 

“I’m fine. I just need a bit, okay? Help me to the couch; I’ll be good there for a bit.” 

He gives her a doubtful look, but easily lifts her, holding her close to his chest on the way out to the living room. As soon as she’s settled, he’s pulling the electric blanket out of the closet, plugging it in and turning it on high before wrapping it around her, taking extra care around her legs. He sets her laptop and the tv remote within easy reach, and goes to make her breakfast. 

And he does all of it without comment, other than to check that the blanket is wrapped around her well enough. Caring for others is second nature to him, and watching the quiet way he takes care of her is almost enough to bring tears to her eyes. 

What did she ever do to deserve someone like him? 

When breakfast is done, he brings it out on a tray, setting it on the coffee table before lifting her legs and sitting down beside her, her legs resting over his. He makes it feel normal, like the problem isn’t as big and scary as it really is, and she loves him all the more for it. 

***

By mid-afternoon, she’s able to move around the apartment. By evening, she’s feeling brave enough to make it to the team dinner. Natasha surprises everyone with her offer to cook, so they sit and chat while the smells of Nat’s favorite Russian recipes fill the air. Amelia is sitting on one of the stools, and can feel Bucky’s careful gaze landing on her more often than usual, but dinner goes off without a hitch.

She’s carrying over her glass to the sink when her leg gives a warning twitch, and then she’s falling, the glass tumbling from her fingers and shattering on the floor just before she nearly lands on top of it, only just managing to twist away at the last minute. 

Amelia finds herself on her stomach, chest heaving as pain radiates up her legs. She hears the panicked shouts of the team, sees Steve kneel down beside her, asking questions before Tony moves him aside, leaning over until he can look her in the eyes. 

“Amy, you alright? You need a minute?” 

She drops her face into her arms. “Yeah. Maybe a little crowd control?” Tears of shame burn hot, threatening to fall down her already red cheeks. Tony pats her shoulder.

“She’s fine. Everyone out. Give her some space, alright?” 

“I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay,” Steve counters. 

“None of us are going anywhere,” Nat agrees. “And you don’t seem half as surprised as the rest of us. What the hell is going on here?” 

Amelia feels Bucky’s hands on her. “You okay to get to the couch?” 

She wants to ask him to just get her out of here, but has a feeling that it’s too late for that, so she nods. Bucky carefully turns her, anxious gaze scouring her face as soon as he can see her. She looks down, avoiding eye contact, but when he lifts her into his arms, she wraps her arms around his neck and burrows her face against his neck. 

“You can do this, doll. And I’ll be right here the whole time.” 

He sets her carefully down and takes a seat beside her, holding her hand tightly in his. Amelia takes a deep breath, and then looks up to the others. “I’m okay. Promise. I just have a leg thing.” 

“A leg thing,” Clint repeats. 

“An old injury that sometimes acts up. No biggie.” 

“Amelia..” Bucky says softly. 

She looks down, studying where her hand is held in his, not able to look up. “More than a leg thing. There was a plane crash, when I was a teen. Not just--” She takes a shaky breath. “The Towers. I was there. Got trapped. Nearly lost my legs in the process. Sometimes they act up, and some days are worse than others. This is a..not good day.” 

There’s no response, but she can feel the tension in the room. Bucky is steadfast beside her, holding tight to her hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says, still staring at her knees. “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it just didn’t come up, and after all of this time…” she shrugs. “I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” 

“Are you okay?” Steve asks. 

“I will be.” 

Bucky squeezes her hand, and she glances at him. He’s watching the others, so she turns her head. 

Natasha and Clint are regarding her, and there’s something in Natasha’s gaze making her uncomfortable, so she moves on, pausing at Tony (who looks ready to spring to her rescue at the slightest hint of conflict), to Steve. 

Steve, who looks like she’s just betrayed him again. And it’s awful, and she really just wants to bury her head in Bucky’s shoulder, but she deserves this. However Steve reacts, she deserves it. 

“She’s had some trouble with them lately, but I’ve been working on a solution. She has her reasons.” 

“You knew?” Steve asks, turning towards Tony. 

“He’s known for as long as we’ve known each other,” Amelia responds.

“I see.” 

“Steve, it’s not--” 

“Amy, it’s fine. I just-- I wish I’d known. Is this because of our practice yesterday?” 

She shakes her head. “Don’t. This isn’t your fault.” 

“Well, it feels like it’s my fault.” 

Clint tugs on Natasha’s arm, and she follows him out of the room. Tony is the next to leave, after checking again that Amelia is okay. 

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Steve asks. 

“Yes? I don’t know. I thought, if we could fix it, maybe no one would ever need to know.” 

Steve sinks heavily into the chair beside her. “Believe it or not, I would have understood.”

“I know.” She stares down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “I’m sorry. I just--- I didn’t want anyone to worry. Wouldn’t have done any good.” 

His head is spinning. Not just because of her legs--that’s bad enough--but the loss of the Twin Towers, and all of the lives taken with them, along with the other losses that day, was one of the first things he was told about. It was only a few weeks after he’d woken up, and he sat in his apartment that night, old news articles spread before him, feeling nauseous with grief and disbelief. He’d wanted to call someone, to hear another person’s voice, to feel like the world wasn’t caving in under him. 

And Amelia had been there. Trapped for who knew how long. Scared and in pain. And she was still facing the repercussions from that, all without letting anyone know. 

Well, that’s not quite right, he corrects. Tony knew. Bucky. 

“Tony is trying to come up with a solution. If he doesn’t, there’s a good chance they’ll eventually amputate. If he does.. Well, if he could fix it, I figured no one needed to know. I didn’t want to make it weird, or slow you guys down. It’s already hard enough, being the only normal person in the group.” 

Steve forces a bit of a smile. “You’re not that normal.” 

Her smile is tight, her eyes watery, but she does at least finally meet his gaze. “I wanted to tell you, Steve. You more than the others. I just didn’t know how. ” 

“So, tell me now.” 

Amy glances over to Bucky, who nods. And then she starts telling her story, talking about the dentist appointment that took her from school, and going to her dad’s office. The panic when the first tower was hit, and then getting caught when the second tower was hit, a metal beam resting inches from her chest, the only thing keeping her from getting crushed. The rescue and slow recovery. The succession of surgeries to try to save her legs.

There’s more she’s not saying. He can tell by the careful way she slides around different parts of the story, weird gaps here or there, but what she did say was enough. He already knew that Amelia had lost her parents young; it was one of their earlier bonding points.He’d known she’d been there when it happened, but had survived. 

It’s amazing what someone can not say if no one asks the right questions. 

And he wants to be mad, but mostly he’s just tired. Amy’s eyes are wet, and misery is radiating off of her. He doesn’t know what to do, because he wants to fix it, but he can’t. Not really. 

But he does slide over to the couch, settling in beside her, and tugging her into a tight hug. He doesn’t say a word--what could he say to this?--but she doesn’t seem to mind, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles again, and he can feel tears start to soak his shirt. He gives Bucky a somewhat helpless look over her shoulder, but his friend just shrugs and gives him a thumbs up before getting up and going to clean up the broken glass. 

They’ve gone through a lot together, him and Amy, and she almost always seems so strong and put together. There might be more going on here than just her feeling bad about not telling them about her legs, but he doesn’t know how to ask, so he just holds on while she cries. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he soothes. 

After a few more minutes, she pulls back, roughly brushing tears from her face. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Do you want to borrow a shirt?”

Steve shrugs. “I’ve had worse. Feeling better?”

She nods.

“And your legs?”

“She needs to go down to medical, but she’s too stubborn to admit it,” Bucky drawls from somewhere behind them. 

“They can’t do anything. Anti-inflammatory, pain reliever… I already have both. Another MRI won’t tell them anything new. There’s no point in wasting their time and mine.” 

Steve shrugs and turns towards Bucky. “She’d probably know.” He looks back to Amy. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Stay for a bit?” 

The smile that tugs at his lips feels a little wobbly, but it’s there. “That sounds great. Movie?” 

She shakes her head. “I thought maybe a board game. Your pick.” 

Two hours later, they’re deep in a game of Catan, and Steve is busy enough trying to outsmart Bucky and Amy (apparently, they’ve been playing this with the other SHIELD agents) that he hasn’t had time to worry about Amy’s revelation, or his own issues. That’s why she picked a game over a movie, he’s guessing. 

They’re leaving again in the morning, going back to a life that he isn’t a part of anymore, not really. No matter how often they video chat, text, or call. No matter the pictures they send. It’s not really the same, and there are times, in his darkest moments, when he wishes he could just drop everything and join them. Feed Amelia’s cows, and watch their three not-quite-puppies play. Gracie misses having the other pups around, too. The three are currently all curled up in front of the TV after a long day of tearing around the community areas of the Tower. They’d all go for one last walk together in the morning, and then Gracie would spend the next week looking for her friends. 

Maybe Bucky was right. Maybe he did need a break. But there didn’t ever seem to be time for it, and what he did, well, he’d like to believe it was important. Publicity events and all. As soon as one mission was over, there was another one to take its place. And in the odd quiet moments, there was training, and hunting out the last remaining HYDRA cells. 

He was tired. But that was okay. He could take being tired. He could take a lot. A lot of pain. A lot of fear. A lot of weariness. Because that’s what they designed him for, as they pumped the serum into his veins. He could take the risks others couldn’t because he could survive them. If he wasn’t there, if anyone died when he could prevent it, well, that would be on him. And Steve had enough failures on his soul already. He didn’t know how many more he could take.


	3. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve spends some time in Arkansas, and Coulson is living out his best life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! 
> 
> Thank you for all of the kind comments, along with the kudos and bookmarks, for this new work. They mean so much, and just make my day. <3 
> 
> This chapter is longer than the others, and took a bit longer to get out. It was mostly done when I posted the last chapter, and then took on a life of it's own about halfway through. 
> 
> There is a part near the beginning that could be seen as suicide ideation, so if that's something you're sensitive to, please let me know, and I'll send you a version without it in there. You won't miss any of the plot, and I'd hate to make anyone uncomfortable with it.

When Steve was seven years old, he caught a cold. It wasn’t serious--not really--mostly just a cough and a snotty nose. He’d been sick before, more times than he could count, and the bad ones always started with a wet cough and being too tired to make it all afternoon without a nap.

This wasn’t that.

This was just a cold. His mom wasn’t worried, and neither was he. It was life as normal. Which was good, because two of the other nurses in his mom’s ward at the hospital had fallen pregnant, so his ma was working long hours every day of the week to make up the difference. 

So, when his cold shifted a bit, and his stuffy, wet nose turned into a stuffy, wet cough, he didn't say a word. No need to worry her. It was just a cold. 

But then there was the morning his mom left early for work, long before Steve was awake. When he woke up with his lungs feeling like wet cement and a deep chill he couldn’t chase away with an extra blanket, he knew he was in trouble. There was a small vial of cough syrup his mom kept in the kitchen cupboard. He got it down, and grabbed one of the big spoons from the drawer. A glass of water came next; the medicine tasted awful, and he’d need to wash down the flavor.

A few minutes later, he was back in bed, burrowed under as many blankets as they had (four-- two of which were nearly threadbare and used only in the summer). And then he promptly fell asleep. 

It was late afternoon before he woke, but he was too tired to do more than stare blearily at the window. His fever was higher, he could tell. He needed cool cloths on his head; that’s what his mom always used. But getting up to grab the scraps of fabric and cold water would take more energy than he had. 

Steve slept. 

The next time he woke, it was to his mom standing over him, her cool hand running across his forehead. She’d been crying, and he didn’t want her to worry, so he gave her a tremulous smile before falling back under. 

_Maybe,_ he thought, as his eyes fell shut, _this is much worse than a cold._

It was morning again, and this time, the doctor was standing beside his mom, a stern look on his face. When his mom saw him awake, she leaned down, pressing cool lips to his fevered cheek, and whispered fiercely. “I love you, Steven. You’ll be alright. Just keep fighting, and you’ll be fine.” 

But Steve was starting to wonder. He was so hot that he was surprised the room around him wasn’t burning, taking him away and leaving nothing but ashes. 

He survived, even though it was another week before he was able to keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, and nearly another week after that before he could stomach anything more than a weak broth. 

It took years before his mom would admit to how sick he’d really been, that the priest had come ‘round and everything. But that moment that he was closest to death, when his mom told him to keep fighting, stayed with him. So did the sadness and fear in his mom’s gaze. So, he promised himself to be even stronger, to fight harder. No matter what. He never wanted to see that look in her eyes again. 

If anyone ever asked Steve where his strength came from, he might have joked about the serum, but then he might surprise them and talk about a wisp of a woman with strong Irish roots and about the unsurmountable courage in her heart, passed down through all the nights she sat at his bedside when he was growing up, fighting for his life (the not-cold was the first time Steve faced down death, but certainly not the last), through whispered prayers and spoonfuls of broth, strengthening his spirit even as his body tried to fail again and again 

So, Steve survived. And he grew stronger, and wiser, and kinder. More stubborn and more committed to justice, to sticking up for those who couldn’t do it themselves. 

By the time the serum came around, Steve had gotten real good at being strong and brave, and at being okay, whether he really was or not. 

Which was good, because Captain America didn’t get to have bad days. If he showed weakness, he was showing weakness in the entire US military. It was up to him to keep spirits raised and morale high. 

Even when Bucky was taken and presumed dead. Even when Steve found him, and had to lead the march of broken men back to base. Even when he was standing in the middle of death and destruction, seeing the very worst than mankind was capable of, and wondering if the world was really worth fighting for. 

When Bucky fell, when he led the charge into the HYDRA base, when he crashed the plane. The whole time, he had to be okay. He had to be strong. 

With ice water filling the plane, and then his lungs, when he finally closed his eyes, it was with a sense of relief. 

Finally, _finally,_ he could stop fighting and just let go.

***

Seventy years later, and nothing has changed. He still has to be okay, be strong and true and brave for his friends, teammates, and the whole damn world. Captain America never breaks. Steve Rogers is so broken, he thinks it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall and scatter on the wind. Lately, he’s thinking that maybe that’d be okay. 

Steve shakes his head, pushing the thoughts away. They’re nearly back to the Tower now, back from a fundraiser in DC, and he’s leaving first thing in the morning for Arkansas. Bucky talked him into coming out a bit early. 

He’s seen the worried looks and knows that he isn’t hiding the cracks as well as he used to. And it’s not the time away from the team that he’s trying to avoid. With no distractions, the cracks will grow. All it will take is a bit of kindness, or too much time to think, and he doesn’t know if he’ll still be able to hold it all together. 

If he’s going to break, if he’s going to hit the ground in a million different pieces, he doesn’t want to let his friends watch. 

***The Next Morning***

One of the first things SHIELD put into the Sanctuary property was a landing strip and an underground garage for jets, something Steve is really thankful for when the ten hour commercial flight, with layovers, becomes a 45 minute trip. From the airfield, he takes one of SHIELD’s jeeps (the nicest one, Coulson assures him as he hands over the keys) and heads up to the house. 

It’s been one week since Bucky and Amelia left the Tower. He pushed things around to get out earlier. Five days, as promised, of rest and relaxation. Apparently, Amy even told Coulson to steer clear. 

There was a game night with the SHIELD team planned, though. But not until later in the week. 

Bucky is waiting on the front porch, and walks down to the truck as Steve parks. Bucky’s smiling widely, and gives him a half hug once he’s out of the truck. 

“Hey, Buck.” 

Steve holds the door open, and Gracie hops out after him, and the two pups at Bucky’s feet go wild, nearly tripping Bucky with their enthusiasm. 

“Easy,” Bucky chastises. Stella, his dog, barks happily and mostly ignores him. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Amelia spoils them.” 

Steve looks around. “Where is Amy?” He figured she’d be right there to greet him, too, but there’s no sign of her. 

“She got caught up with something at the Sanctuary. They had a mission go live early this morning, and she’s running comms. She texted me about 15 minutes ago, and should be here soon.” 

Amy told him the day that Coulson decided to start letting her help, developing her skills on the comms from just helping Bucky and being an extra set of eyes to someone who had the ability to run the mission, if needed. Antoine Triplett, or Tripp, as the team called him, said she had a natural gift for it. Gabe Jones’ grandson took a good three months to feel comfortable around Steve, in spite of Bucky working with the guy nearly every day. Now, it’s not uncommon them to speak every week or two, just chatting work and life and anything else that comes up. 

“Still not going out with them?” 

“Naw. I’m enjoying the break. If they need me, they know I’d be there, and we’ve been training together, but so far there hasn’t been anything they needed me in on.” 

Steve is about to reply when Amelia’s truck comes whipping into the driveway. She parks next to the jeep, and hops out. 

“Hey! You’re early!”

“You’re late,” Steve responds, smiling, opening his arms for a hug. She makes her way over, giving him a tight hug before stepping back. 

“Mission go well?” Bucky asks. 

“Right as planned. In, out, and on their way home.” 

Bucky tugged her over, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Proud of you.” 

She blushes, turning her face into him and kissing him quickly. Steve glances away. He’s happy for them, but seeing them together makes him feel more alone. 

Jesus, it’s going to be a long week. 

They all head into the house, and he goes up to his room to take care of his stuff. From his window, he can see the trees along the back of the property, and the barn and hills beyond that. The skies are clear and bright, sun shining through the sheer curtains, and he pauses a moment to enjoy the uninterrupted view. 

By the time he makes it downstairs, Amy is sitting at the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal and a book, and Bucky is setting out the extra food and water dishes for Stella. It’s all simple and domestic, and it leaves him feeling a little uncomfortable, like he’s peering through the windows at someone else’s life. 

But then Bucky straightens up and glances his way. “Amy said to not plan anything today, so find a place to get comfortable.” 

“I said we weren’t planning anything. Steve is free to make his own plans. If there’s something he wants to do, we’ll do it.” 

Steve huffs a laugh. “It’s fine. Some time to relax sounds good. And maybe a run before dinner, if you’re up to it?” 

“I’ll get dinner going while you’re out,” Amy offers. 

He immediately feels heat playing along his cheeks. “Sorry… We don’t have to. I--”

Amy rolls her eyes. “I’m fine, Steve. Go enjoy your run. I’m just tossing ribs and potatoes onto the grill. It’s too hot today to try to actually cook anything.” 

“Are you sure? I could stay and help--” 

Bucky snorts. “She barely lets me touch her grill. I don’t think you’re getting anywhere near it.” 

“You overcooked the steak.” 

“Once.” 

“Once was enough.” 

Bucky smiles fondly and rolls his eyes. “Anyhow…” 

Steve huffs a laugh, and goes to browse the bookshelf. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, truthfully. There’s so much going through his mind that just sitting still doesn’t seem possible. 

He pulls out a copy of a Stephen King book, and settled into the chair near the picture window that overlooked the side yard. A few minutes later, Amelia set a glass of water and a few snacks on the table next to him, before walking off again without saying a word. 

***

Steve looks exhausted, and Bucky’s looking at him like the man could break at any minute. Worrying about Steve is a decades-long habit, but Amelia’s pretty sure Steve can feel Bucky’s gaze on the back of his head, by the way he holds himself just a bit stiffly. 

She stares at Bucky until he looks up at her, and jerks her head towards the kitchen. The man follows her in, and at least has the good sense to look slightly abashed. 

“He’s not going to disappear if you look away, Bucky,” she says quietly, knowing Steve can probably still hear them anyhow. “Why don’t you take the dogs out for a hike? I’ll do some work in the garden, and he can have some space.” 

At the word ‘walk’, all three dogs come bounding into the kitchen, barking happily. Amelia smirks. 

Bucky just shakes his head, and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Alright. We’ll do this your way.” 

“Hmm. Because my way works.” 

He grins, and reaches out, pulling her in for a quick kiss. “It certainly did for me.” His arms wrap around her, and she feels his chest rise and fall with a deep breath. “Thank you, doll,” he says softly. 

She sets her hand on his cheek, thumb lightly caressing just over his temple. “He’s going to be okay.” 

He nods, stepping back and calling the dogs back to him as he heads for the kitchen door, heading out to the backyard. He takes off at a jog, the pups running around at his feet, nearly tripping him up more than once. Amelia watches him go, with a tiny smile tugging at her lips, and then turns to go get her gardening gear out of the closet. 

And just about turns right into Steve’s chest. 

“Jesus!” She jumps back, hand coming up to cover her now-pounding heart. 

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I overheard-- Umm. Can I help with the garden?” 

“Of course. Come on, you can help carry.” 

A minute later, they’re staring at Amelia’s mismatched garden, courtesy of the two kids living up the road, who had helped her plan it. They’d had a plan, but once they started planning, their carefully planned planting map went out the window. 

“It’s a little easier to tell which ones are weeds and which ones belong there,” Amelia offered. “When we first planted them, everything looked the same.” 

“Just point me in a direction, and tell me what to do.” 

She leads him over to the far corner, pointing out the carrot, broccoli, bean, and tomato plants. “When you get further down, you’ll run into the corn and squash, but those are a little easier to figure out. Anything that doesn’t belong, pull it and toss it to the side. I can rake it all up later.” 

Steve gets to work, and Amelia goes back over to her area. Half an hour later, they’ve both worked their way towards the middle. 

“I don’t want to die.” 

Amelia looks up, startled. “Steve-” 

“I feel like that’s what everyone thinks. Poor, sad Steve. Doesn’t see any reason to live.” He pulls out a weed with a little more force than necessary and tosses it over his shoulder. It soars up, before landing nearly 50 feet behind him. 

“No one thinks--” 

He silences her with a look. “Don’t. I mean, that’s what this vacation is, right? Rest, recover, get my head on straight before I decide to not come back from the next mission?” When she doesn’t respond, he continues. “I’m not some helpless 5’ 2” asthmatic anymore.” 

Amelia snorts. “I don’t think you were ever helpless. No one thinks you want to die, or that you have nothing to live for, Steve. Not really. But some of the risks you take… We’re worried. We all love you, and no one wants to see you get hurt, or worse. Even you can’t survive everything.”

“I can survive more than everyone else,” he says softly.

“I know. Doesn’t mean you should test it every time you leave the tower,” she says, forcing a bit of a smile, like it’s not as important as it is. 

Steve gives her a rueful smile. “That sounds fair.” 

“If you think I believe that this conversation was all it was going to take…” 

He sighs. “I’ll try to be more careful, but I’m not making promises.” 

“Good enough.” She tosses a handful of weeds at his head. “You know we really do all need you, right? You. Not the guy with a shield.”

Steve ducks his head, red staining his cheeks. “Yeah. I know.” And then he looks back up, and lobs a bunch of weeds and dirt back at her.

***

By the time Bucky gets back, Amelia and Steve are sitting on the front porch, half covered in dirt and bits of grass, with glasses of lemonade in hand. Amelia says something, and Steve laughs, head tipped back. Bucky stops for a moment, taking in the scene. Amelia sees him first, and waves him over. He walks up the stairs, and pulls a porch chair around. 

“Should I ask what happened?” 

“She started it,” Steve accuses, pointing a finger at Amelia. 

“He deserved it.” 

Bucky tries to smother a grin. “Well, looks like you both gave as good as you got.” 

“See? That’s practically the same as winning,” Amelia jokes. 

“I don’t think---” 

“You have the super serum, and professional training. And I didn’t lose. That counts.” 

Steve shoves her playfully. “Fine. You won.” 

Bucky can’t hide his smile this time. Steve’s smile is a little freer, and it’s good to see. But while he knows whatever happened while he was gone helped some, Bucky knows that there’s a long way to go still. 

After lunch, Steve finally sat down, sketchpad in hand. Amelia sat in one of the chairs with a a book, and Bucky had his tablet. He was currently learning about new environmental conservation techniques. Since moving out here, he was trying to learn more about Amelia’s work with Tony. It also helped him to make more sense of some of the improvements being made in the Shield facility. Amelia had been working with their designers to make everything as sustainable as possible, with no small of help from Tony and Pepper. 

Hearing the scratch of Steve’s pencil on paper brings a feeling of nostalgia, calling up the feelings of hot Brooklyn summers. And having Amelia there, hearing the turning of the page and smelling the light scent of her lotion-- something rose scented today. 

Hours later, after Steve had wandered off to his room, Bucky and Amelia end up back out on the porch swing, snuggled up together, his arm over her shoulder, and her head resting on his chest. 

“Inviting him out here was a good call.” 

She shifts, glancing up. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“What happened when--” 

“We talked. Cleared the air a bit. I don’t think we solved anything, not by a long shot, but it helped, I think, letting him talk. I didn’t do anything. He’s pissed that everyone keeps treating him like he has one foot in the grave.” 

Bucky hums, and runs his fingers through her hair. “I’ll talk to the others. But what’s going to help him the next time he gets himself into a situation he can’t get out of? What if I’m not there? What if--” his voice breaks off, and he takes a deep breath, trying to pull himself back together. The last thing he needs right now is to fall apart. 

***

Of all the side effects of the serum, the amplified hearing is probably the worst. Hearing Bucky’s voice break, hearing the words meant just for Amelia, leaves Steve feeling sick. Suddenly, the room feels too small, and the air is too stale. He slips out, grabbing his shoes on his way to the back door. His heart is beating too fast, and it feels like he can’t quite catch a breath. Slipping out the back, he’s off and running before he’s even off the stairs, taking off into the dark. 

He runs. Across the backyard, and onto the dirt path leading up to the barn, and then beyond. Past where Heather attacked them late last year (Steve squeezes his eyes shut to block the memory), and onto a small deer path cutting through the woods. He has no idea where he’s going, and doesn’t care, really. He’s just running, like hell itself is at his heels. 

After a while, he hears the sound of running water, and changes course to find a small brook. It’s not particularly wide or deep, barely enough for him to lay in, but he finally slows to a stop, taking a moment before following it upstream. Finally, it gets a bit deeper. He slips off his shoes and wades in, sitting down in the water, feeling the cool liquid splashing along his chest and shoulders as it rushes past. 

After several long minutes, the forest forgets that he is there, and the birds and other animals start making noises, chattering back and forth. A family of racoons come down to the water to drink, the parents eyeing him warily before deciding he wasn’t a risk. The four babies are a bit less cautious, chirping at him as they splash in the water. He laughs in spite of himself.

He sits there until the moon is halfway across the sky. A few more animals stray to the water and leave again. He shifts around until he can lean back against a rock, feeling the cold water rush over and around his body. Eyes closed, he can almost pretend he’s being carried away. 

It’s going on dawn before he makes it back to the house. He figures Bucky and Amy would both be sound asleep in bed, but instead, he finds Bucky sitting on the back porch, watching out over the path. He waits until Steve is just about to the porch before saying anything. 

“You’re wet.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Everything okay?” 

“I’m fine. Just felt a little restless.” 

Bucky purses his lips together and stands. “All right.” 

He turns and starts to walk back into the house. Steve shakes his head, and then calls out. “Buck?” 

The other man pauses, one hand on the half-open door. 

“Thanks for waiting up. Sorry to worry you.” 

Bucky turns back around. “Been worrying about you for the last 90 years, punk. Didn’t imagine it was going to change now.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, and follows Bucky in, taking care to leave his dirty shoes out on the porch. He could clean them up the next day. Right now, he’s finally tired and calm enough to sleep.

***  
On his third morning of vacation, Steve gets up early, goes out for a run, and then showers and makes a quick breakfast. The sun isn’t quite up yet when he hops into the jeep and heads towards the Sanctuary. 

It’s his first time seeing more than pictures of it. The building itself isn’t what he was expecting. It doesn’t look like the home of a not-so-secret government agency. It looks like a thoughtfully- designed mansion. No one driving, or flying, past would think it was anything more than a nice home. There were trees around it, helping it to blend in with the surroundings, and a wide front porch, with two swings and a couple of chairs. It looked like a home, maybe something built in the late 1800s, and most importantly, it looked inviting. Like a place people would want to go. Even the light grey-green paint looks like a luxury home choice, rather than a way to add a little extra camouflage. 

Steve parks over near the garage and climbs out, starting towards the short path leading to the porch. He’s only a few feet from the steps when Tripp steps out, a coffee in each hand. 

“Morning, neighbor,” Tripp says with a smile, handing Steve one of the coffees. “What do you think?”

“I’m impressed. It looks…”

“Like home, right?”

“Well, not like my home,” Steve jokes. “I grew up in a run-down tenement. Some things are better left in the past.” 

“You get my point. And after three years spending most of my time on a jet, this is a nice change of pace. Ready for the tour?” 

Steve nods. “Lead the way.” 

The door opens to a long hallway. He can see the back door at the end. Along the way, there are a few side tables and chairs. They make their way down the hall, first coming across the front parlor. There are large windows facing front, letting in the morning light. Tripp leads through the room and into a second, the library, Steve guesses. There’s a couch and two chairs in here, and more windows, along with a wall full of books. He recognizes several of the titles; it seems to be a mix of contemporary and classics, and he sees several that have been on his reading list for the last year or two. 

The library has a door that leads back out into the hall. “The place felt like a bit of a maze when they first were building and decorating,” Tripp jokes. “But the main floor has all of the expected stuff.” He leads past a few open doorways, giving Steve a chance to look in as they walk past. The actual living room is huge, with enough space for a dozen or more people to fit comfortably. The dining room table expands from eight places to eighteen with just the press of a button. And the kitchen itself is spacious and brightly lit, with a island that seats a half-dozen people. “Perfect for casual meals or breakfast,” Tripp adds. 

“All of the bedrooms, and a few more community areas, are on the next floor up. Above that, we have the attic, mostly used as offices. Bucky’s office is up there, in the security room, and Amelia’s is right next door. Coulson has one up there, too, but he’s usually in the library.” As they pass by the back door, Tripp stops and opens it, revealing a large pool and a large expanse of open space. “We even have a few different running trails, all secure and well-maintained. Bucky spends a lot of time on them. Now, the really exciting stuff is down here.” He closes the door and goes back around to the dining room, pressing against one of the panels. A small screen slides out. It takes facial and voice recognition for the panel to slide back, revealing a stairwell. 

“After the mess with Loki, we don’t go with just ocular identification anymore,” he explains. 

The stairs open up to an open area, and even though it’s underground, the style matches the rest of the house. An archway leads to a fitness center, complete with a boxing ring in the corner. The next doorway leads to a shooting range. The one across the hall is mostly empty, save a computer system. He recognized the layout from a similar training simulator Tony had put in at the Tower. 

There are a few other training rooms, and then at the end, a sealed tunnel leading out to the underground airfield. 

“So, what do you think?” 

“I think what you guys are setting up out here is really something. Coulson should be proud.” 

Tripp laughs. “Trust me, he is. Come on, I’m starving. Waffles sound good?” 

***

Coulson sits down to a breakfast that his twelve year old self would have been giddy for. 

He’s managing to keep a tight lid on the giddy, just. His own team of heroes. Captain America sitting across the table from him. This more than made up for the crappy first years as a junior agent. It almost made up for dying. 

“Did you put cinnamon in these?” Daisy asks, pointing her fork at Tripp. “Did you make these fancy for the Captain?” 

Tripp laughs it off. “Just trying something new. Has nothing to do with our fancy guest.” 

“I think they’re good,” Steve offers. “Thank you.” 

Tripp smiles and winks. 

“Any plans for the rest of your vacation?” Simmons asks.

“Nothing specific. I’m halfway through my second book of the week, and that hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Audiobooks,” Coulson admits. “I love the feel of a book in my hands, but audiobooks are more practical.” 

“It’s practical, but not great for research files. Harder to go back and reread the relevant details,” Fitz says. 

“Not that we usually need a second read,” Simmons adds.

“I tried once, on Maria’s recommendation. Never quite got into it.” Steve shrugs and spears another piece of pancake. “I guess I’m a bit old-fashioned.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Steve gives him a bit of a smile, and Coulson has to fight his blush. This is embarrassing. He should be over his boyish fanboying at this point, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. 

He glances around at his team. Fitz and Simmons were talking animatedly with Daisy. Out of all of them, he was the most proud of how far those three had come since the start of all of all this. Carmin sat beside Daisy, with May across from her. When the older woman catches his glance, she smirks at him, and he knows to expect some teasing about all of this later. Trip sits beside Carmin, the two newest members of their team. Tripp joined up when SHIELD fell, and Carmin joined just a few months later. They were small, but growing, and SHIELD facilities were popping up all over the globe, with him as the Director. It was a heady thought.

“There’s a state park about an hour from here that has a natural stone bridge and a few great views, if you go far enough,” Carmin offers up. “If you were looking for somewhere to spend some time.” 

Steve looks down the table at her. “Sounds fantastic. It’d be good to stretch my legs a bit. Sitting around isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.” 

Carmin nods. “It’s on just off 65, heading North. Can’t miss the signs.” 

***

Amelia rests her head on the back seat of the jeep, Cooper’s head resting on her lap (and the other two dogs curled up down by her feet). It’s early; the sun is barely up. There’s a pack in the back with a picnic lunch and basic supplies, and they are making their way down the highway, heading towards the hiking trail Carmin mentioned the day before. Steve got home mid-morning, and immediately invited them to go out hiking with him. 

She wouldn’t have missed it. He’d be leaving early the day after tomorrow, his five days coming to an end. And he might not be much better off, but at least he was better rested, and the worry lines between his eyebrows were starting to relax. 

Bucky is driving, one hand on the wheel, the other messing with the stereo, trying to find some decent music. Finally, Steve reaches over and turns it off. 

“Let’s just enjoy the silence,” he says, pushing in the knob. Bucky rolls his eyes, but doesn’t mess with it again. 

“Gonna be a long day if we’re not talking to each other,” Bucky says. 

“Didn’t say we couldn’t talk. The static and talk shows aren’t really my thing.” 

Amy sits up the rest of the way and is about to say something when her phone goes off. Bucky glances back, and catches her gaze in the mirror. 

“Hey, Coulson.” 

_“We tracked down TJ Kuleski. He’s in a little town in Mexico. I’m sending you the details now. How quickly can you get here?”_

Amelia meets Bucky’s gaze, and makes a sign to turn the car around. “We’re about 45 minutes out.” 

_“Can you make it 30? And we're going to need you with us for this one.”_

“Got it. And, yeah. Thirty minutes. We can do that.” The line goes dead, and she looks up at the men. “They found Kuleski. He’s been in hiding for the last two years. They’ve seen signs of him, bodies with his calling card, but no way to track him. He’s a high level enhanced, and this is our first shot at him.” 

“Enhanced how? Should I call in the team?” 

“Normally, I’d say no, but this guy is powerful. They lost a dozen SHIELD agents going after him the first time, and that was before HYDRA messed around and made him more powerful.” 

Her phone beeps with incoming data, and she quickly sends a copy to Steve’s phone. “That’s the relevant details. If you can get the others to meet us there, it wouldn’t hurt.” 

Steve nods, and calls Tony while Amelia sends a text to Coulson, letting him know that they’re going to have a few extra hands. 

“Are you on the ground for this?” Bucky asks. 

“Looks like I’ll be in the Bus, but it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about everyone else. This guy can get into your mind and really screw things up, and take control. Even HYDRA didn't have enough control on him to let him out in the field, which is saying something.” She pauses. “I don’t want any of you anywhere near him. The last thing we need to do is give him control of his very own team of superheroes.” 

“So, what’s the plan?” Steve asks. 

“Does ‘hope that you and Coulson come up with something’ count as a plan? Because that’s what I have so far.” 

“We’ll work it out on the way out. I just sent everything to Tony; they’re putting wheels up in less than an hour, so they’ll meet us.” 

Amelia reaches around, setting a hand on Bucky’s arm. “Do you want to stay with me on the plane? You’re history isn’t exactly unknown, and the last thing I want is for him to get his hands on you.”

Bucky takes one hand off the wheel to gently squeeze her hand. “I’ll be okay. It won’t be just me out there.” 

“She’s got a point, Buck. Maybe stay on the Bus with her, keep her safe.” 

“Not a chance, pal. Out of the two of you, I know who is going to avoid trouble, and who is going to run right into it. Amelia will be fine.” 

“He’s got a point,” Amelia retorts. “But, seriously, be careful with this guy, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine, doll.” Bucky meets her gaze through the mirror. 

She gives a sharp nod, and goes back to reading through the mission files, trying to push aside the fear and worry of all the things that could go wrong. 

The Avengers and SHIELD battled aliens. How much of a problem could one man possibly pose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what's going to happen next. Seriously. This was meant to be a quiet vacation, so... oops?
> 
> Just a quick word about spoilers, with Endgame coming out soon. I won't be incorporating any of the Infinity War plot in Second Chances. I won't even be seeing the movie until the end of May (am waiting to go see it with a group of out-of-town friends). There won't be any spoilers here, and I'd ask that everyone is respectful of that when sharing comments over the next several chapters. I don't think I need to worry, though, because I have the very best readers. <3


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